Sera woke before dawn. The sound of rain was steady, beating the windows like drums. The wind whistled through the cracks in the stone walls. The whole place felt alive, like the building itself had a breath and was speaking through the storm.
Her hand was burning again. She sat up, unwrapped the cloth slowly. The skin underneath glowed faint, a reddish light moving with her pulse. The mark was deeper now, not fading but spreading. She stared at it until her chest went tight, then quickly tied the bandage back before Elara stirred.
Elara turned on her bed, rubbing her eyes. "Are you awake already?"
Sera just nodded.
"Another dream?"
"Yes."
"Shadows again?"
Sera nodded once more. She didn't want to say it out loud. If she said it, it would feel more real.
Elara didn't push. She had stopped asking for details after the last few nights. But her face showed worry all the same.
Lessons dragged like heavy chains that morning. The rain had not stopped, and the sky was still gray, hanging low over the towers. The teachers talked of history, rules and Blackthorn honor. Sera didn't write a single word. She felt only the throbbing in her hand and the whispers that were stronger each hour.
Other students noticed too. She caught them staring when they thought she wasn't looking. "Some glanced down quickly, guilty, while others whispered without shame. She kept hearing the same words again and again. "Marked. Cursed."
When she passed in the corridor, groups shifted apart, leaving her a path. Not kindness but fear.
She hated it. She hated the way they looked at her. Rowan was different. He leaned as always against the far wall, flipping his coin. But this time, when his eyes locked on hers, his grin was gone.
The coin slowed in his hand. He looked at her with sharp eyes, searching, afraid but not turning away. She turned firs, her heat rising in her throat.
At lunch, Elara leaned close, her voice low. "The Prefects are watching you."
Sera stopped, spoon halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean?"
"I heard them this morning near the north stairs. They said the word "marked".
Sera's stomach turned cold.
Elara grabbed her sleeve. "They don't know everything yet. But they're curious. Be careful."
Sera shoved the bowl away. "Careful won't save me."
That night the storm grew worse. Lightning cut across the sky. Thunder shook the glass until it rattled in the frames. The halls were darker than usual, torches low and trembling.
Sera couldn't stay in her bed. The whispers were too loud, too close. She stood, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and slipped into the hall.
Her feet moved like they belonged to someone else, carrying her toward the western stair. The steps were wet from a broken window, her hand sliding along the cold stone wall. With each step, the mark in her palm beat hotter, like it was leading her somewhere.
At the top was a heavy wooden door, bound in iron. She had never seen it before. The whispers hissed behind it. She touched the lock. The bandage smoked at once. The iron was hot under her hand, then with a click.The door opened slowly. The room was a tower chamber. The roof leaked in several places, rain dripping to the stone floor. At the center of the room was a circle of black candles, each flame blue and tall, flickering as if alive.
"Without realising it, Sera moved closer The flames shifted in her direction, almost in recognition. On the ground were carvings. Symbols she remembered from the east wing.
Spirals, sharp lines, hollow eyes. This time they formed a circle, complete, unbroken.
Her chest tightened. She knelt and touched the stone. The mark in her hand flared at once, the carvings glowing faintly in response.
Hundreds of whispers filled her head endlessly. Join us! Join us! Join us!.
She bit her lip until blood came. 'No.'"
The flames roared higher. Shadows spun against the walls, faces and arms stretching out. Not people—empty things. Hollow.
She stumbled back.
Then a voice cut through the noise.
"You shouldn't be here."
Her heart jolted. She turned. Rowan stood in the doorway, wet from the storm, coin gone from his hand. His face was pale, his usual grin nowhere to be seen.
"How did you find me?" she asked.
Rowan stepped inside, each footstep loud in the round chamber. "You think Blackthorn doesn't know where you go? The academy watches. Every breath, every door you open. And now…" he pointed at her hand—"it has you."
"Then tell me," Sera snapped, lifting her bandaged hand, "what does this mean? What does the academy want?"
Rowan's eyes darkened. He looked at the candles, then back at her. "It's choosing you."
Her chest froze. "Choosing me for what?"
He didn't answer right away. His voice was lower when he finally spoke. "For the Hollow."
She didn't have time to ask—suddenly, the blue flames blew out. Darkness covered the tower."
Something moved in it. Something large.
The whispers turned into a scream.
Sera ran. She didn't know how her feet carried her down the stairs, only that her pulse was hammering and her lungs burned. The storm outside roared louder than before.
Rowan caught her halfway down, his grip hard on her arm. "Listen!" he shouted. "You can't fight it. If you keep fighting, it will destroy you. If you give in, you might live."
She yanked her arm back. "Give in to what?"
"To the academy. To the Hollow. That's the only way anyone survives."
"I won't."
She tore free and bolted, leaving him in the stairwell. A flash of lightning showed him for only a second, standing there with his hands clenched, eyes burning. Then the shadows swallowed him.
Back in her room, Elara jumped up. "Where were you? You're shaking"
"Don't ask." Sera pressed her back against the door, heart racing.
Elara stopped, her face white with fear. She had never seen Sera like this.
Sera slid down until she was sitting on the floor. The mark under her bandage glowed hot, red light bleeding through the cloth.
She whispered to herself, though she knew the walls were listening: "I won't belong to this place. I'll find a way out."
But deep in the stones, in the wind, in the rain, the academy's answer came back like laughter.